


Admissions

by kalirush



Series: Ten Years On [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Academia, College, Gen, Graduate School, Historians, POV Outsider, Research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dr. Robert Wagner almost missed the knock on his door. It was his office hour, of course, but he never actually expected his students to show up. </i></p><p>Or, the story of how Ed went to graduate school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Admissions

Dr. Robert Wagner almost missed the knock on his door. It was his office hour, of course, but he never actually expected his students to show up. Typically, he spent the time catching up on grading or planning his next lecture or reading. He looked up. “Come in-” he called, but the door was already opening.

“You’re Dr. Wagner?” the young man said, as he walked in the room. He was a _young_ man: a bit short, but quite handsome; barely out of his teens if he was out of them at all. He wore his suit comfortably, his clothes a little sloppy. There was a certain air of arrogance about him that Wagner found off-putting. “They tell me that you’re in charge of admissions,” the young man said, settling himself into a chair as though he owned it.

Wagner cleared his throat. “I’m the chair of the _graduate_ studies committee,” he said, with slight emphasis. “I’ve nothing to do with admissions for the undergraduate program.”

“Good,” the young man said, half-grinning, his eyes intense. “Because I want you to admit me to the graduate program.”

Wagner frowned. He cleared his throat. “Mr- ah-”

“Elric,” the young man supplied. “Edward Elric.”

“Yes,” Wagner continued. “Mr. Elric. Where did you do your undergraduate work?” he asked. _How old_ are _you?_ he wanted to ask.

Elric laughed. “Here and there,” he said. “I don’t have a degree, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Wagner frowned again. This was ridiculous. “Mr. Elric,” he started. “I’m sorry to say, but our graduate program is extremely competitive; only the best applicants are accepted here. And an undergraduate degree is a necessary pre-requisite. You should apply for undergraduate admission. If you apply yourself, you should be prepared to pursue graduate work in perhaps four or five years.”

Elric’s eyes narrowed. “That would be a waste of my time,” he said. He reached into the briefcase he was carrying, and pulled out a stack of papers. “Read this,” he said, and tossed it onto Wagner’s desk. He crossed his arms. “Read it, and then tell me whether I’m ‘prepared to pursue graduate work’.”

Wagner didn’t like this young man at all. He was much too full of himself. “Mr. Elric, I assure you that I have quite enough to do as is, and I don’t care to entertain the juvenile ramblings of every stranger to walk through my door-”

Elric laughed. “Read it,” he said. “If you don’t, you’ll always be curious.” He stood up. “Call me when you’re ready. Either way, you’ll hear from me again.”

When the door had shut behind him, Wagner picked up the stack of papers. Indignant, he considered dropping them in the wastebasket, but he hesitated. Finally, he put them in a clear space on his shelf, and decided to forget about them.

\---------------------------

It was almost a month later before he saw those papers again. He was picking up a book that he’d stacked on top of them, when the title caught his eye. _How the Cameron Riots Were Orchestrated by a Bunch of Assholes in the Government_ , it read.

Wagner shook his head. Ridiculous. It was a premise that belonged in tabloid newspapers and smoke-filled salons, and the title- juvenile. Absurd. Crass. He picked up the papers. They should be good for some amusement, at least.

He was five pages in when he realized that the young man had actually done some research. He flipped to the back- Elric’s references were meticulously formatted and took up the bulk of six typed pages.

He was ten pages in when he realized that Elric might have some fair points. His analysis of troop movements was a unique insight, and it was true that the Hoffmann Letters could be read to indicate an involvement, when you looked at them in a certain light....

He was halfway through when he started to wonder whether someone else had written the paper. Surely, an unschooled boy could not have produced a piece of scholarship like this. And yet- it was naive, in certain ways. His phrasing and style were rough, and there were holes in his arguments, where Wagner wanted to say “Have you checked this?” or “Had you considered so-and-so’s work on that?”

Overall, though, it was good work. He had _insight_ , and a way of interpreting existing data that was both new and brilliant. Wagner needed to speak to the young man, he realized. He flipped to the first page, where Elric had neatly hand-written a phone number.

“The Hughes household,” a pleasant female voice answered, after the operator connected him.

“Hello,” Wagner said, politely. “I was given to understand that a Mr. Edward Elric could be reached at this number.”

“Oh, Edward?” the woman on the other end said. “I’m sorry. He went back home to Resembool about a week ago. Who is this?”

“Dr. Robert Wagner, from the Central University Department of History,” Wagner told her. “I don’t suppose you know where I could reach him?”

“I could certainly get him a message,” the woman told him. Her voice was suddenly muffled, as though she’d turned away from the receiver. “Elysia! Put that down, sweetheart!” When she spoke again, her voice was clear. “I’m sorry about that. You know how children are.”

“Er,” Wagner said. “Please do pass on the message, if you can.”

“Of course,” she told him.

Wagner looked at the papers in his hands, and wondered if, as promised, he’d hear from that young man again. Slowly, he reached for his marking pen, and began scrawling comments in the margins.

\--------------------------

A few days later, Wagner returned from class to find someone sitting in his office.

It was a military man; a Brigadier-General by the stripes on his epaulets. He was lounging in Wagner’s guest chair, reading a book- Hummel’s _Rise of the Fuhrers_ , Wagner noted. “Hello?” Wagner said.

The man looked up. “Hello,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant. “Roy Mustang,” he said, holding out a hand to shake.

Wagner knew the name, of course, even if he hadn’t known the face. Everyone knew who Roy Mustang was. He reached out to shake the other man’s hand, a little gingerly. He was not wearing the famous gloves. “Hello, General Mustang,” he said politely, and then seated himself at his desk. He made a neat pile of his class papers. “What does the Flame Alchemist want with me?” he asked, looking up.

“I understand that you’ve been inquiring about Edward Elric,” Mustang said.

Wagner frowned. “If you don’t mind my saying, how would you know that?”

Mustang smiled. “I have my ways of knowing things,” he said. “Even in these hallowed halls.”

Wagner frowned even more. “It’s no secret, I suppose. He came to see me about admission to our graduate program. I tried to call him back, but I suppose he’d left Central. Why does it matter to the military?”

“Dr. Wagner,” Mustang said, smiling deeper, “Do you know who Edward Elric is?”

Wagner thought. Now that Mustang mentioned it, the name seemed vaguely familiar. “Should I?” he asked.

Mustang laughed. “For a Distinguished Professor of History, you don’t pay much attention to current events, do you?” Wagner started to protest, but Mustang interrupted him. “Edward Elric is- was- the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

 _That_ name, Wagner knew. Of course. Well, he supposed that accounted for some of the arrogance. The kind of genius that could pass the State Alchemist’s exam at _twelve_ \- still- “Why is he trying to apply for a position in the History Department?” Wagner asked. “Wouldn’t he be more suited to a place in the sciences?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Mustang said, smirking. “I’d very much like to know that myself. Do you intend to admit him?”

Wagner didn’t like the question. “Are you trying to imply that I should?” he said. “This University does not take kindly to military interference, sir-”

Mustang raised a hand. Wagner noticed, morbidly, that there was a scar on the back of it. It was curiously regular- a pattern- was that an _array_ carved into the man’s flesh? “I have no intention of interfering with your institution,” Mustang said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’m simply inquiring, for Edward’s sake.”

Wagner searched his memory. “Elric was your subordinate, wasn’t he? Is that why you’re here?”

Mustang shrugged. “I’m here partly because I owe that brat a debt he’d never allow me to repay,” he said. “But mostly, I’m here because I’m curious. When Edward Elric decided to study alchemy- at the tender age of five, by the way- he put himself on a path that changed the course of this nation. Now, he’s decided that he’d like to study history and politics. I’m _immensely_ curious as to what he intends to make of himself. Aren’t you?”

Wagner regarded the other man carefully. “I’d like to know more about the mind that wrote this,” he said, thumping the stack of papers that were still in the center of his desk. “I don’t know about the rest.”

“Hmm,” Mustang said. Suddenly, he rose, straightening his uniform. He laid _Rise of the Fuhrers_ on Wagner’s desk with the casual carefulness of a scholar. “Consider the implications,” he advised, and then left.

Wagner was left feeling decidedly unnerved.

\-------------------------

Surely Mustang was exaggerating, Wagner thought. ‘Changed the course of the nation’? It seemed implausible. But the question nagged at him, and Wagner found himself researching the career of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

He started, as he always did when researching any historical figure, by looking for information on Elric himself, making use of the public records in the Central archive. The woman on the phone had said that he had “gone home to Resembool”, so he looked there. It didn’t take long to find everything they had with the name “Elric”; there just weren’t that many records from Resembool to sort through.

Elric was twenty-one, apparently, which was slightly older than Wagner had thought. His father’s name was listed as “Van Hohenheim”, which meant that Elric had his mother’s name. So Elric was a bastard? There was another birth certificate for an Alphonse Elric, and Van Hohenheim was listed on that one, too. Which meant the man had stayed around for a while at least, but not married the boys’ mother, or given them his name.

There was a death certificate for Trisha Elric in 1904- the same year that Mustang gave as the year that Elric had started studying alchemy. Then, nothing until 1919, when he found a marriage licence for Elric and a girl by the name of Winry Rockbell. There was also a birth certificate for an “Alphonse Henry Elric” dated only a few months after the marriage license. Elric was a family man, then, which surprised Wagner.

in 1911, he found the first newspaper articles about the Fullmetal Alchemist. Elric’s official portrait stared out of the page of each and every one, his eyes burning even through the fuzziness of newsprint. The articles had very little in the way of real information- but they made much of his youth, his genius, and his supposed patriotism. A few mentioned that he’d been sponsored by Roy Mustang- the Flame Alchemist and the Hero of Ishval.

There were other newspaper articles as time went on. The _Eastern Register_ had a small story in April of 1914 about The Fullmetal Alchemist’s involvement in the riots in Liore. There was no interview with Elric himself, but a woman named Rose Thomas was quoted as saying “Edward Elric opened our eyes, and paved the way for us to stand on our own two feet.”

A few months later, there was a front-page story in the _New Optain Dispatch_ about the Fullmetal Alchemist stopping a train-jacking. This one had a picture. Elric- tiny at fifteen- posed with his fists on his hips and a huge, self-satisfied grin. Standing behind him was an enormous man in a suit of armor that was identified as Elric’s younger brother Alphonse.

In August, there was an article in the _Central Times_ about the Alchemist Killer, Scar. It was reported that he’d attacked the Fullmetal Alchemist, but there were no reports that the young alchemist had been injured. He dug a little more, and found a blurry photo of the event in a tabloid called _News of Amestris_. Elric was sitting on a curb, clutching his right shoulder and looking terribly young and lost.

Early in 1915, the Fullmetal Alchemist was at odds with the government. There were a few official notices printed in the papers- particularly the _Times_ and the _Northern Sun_ \- instructing the populace that he was dangerous, and that they should notify the authorities immediately if they spotted him.

And then in the spring of 1915, there came the coup, and the end of the Bradley regime, and the eclipse with the strange mass-hysteria that had surrounded it. There was almost no mention of Edward Elric in the many, many articles that discussed the event. He was only able to find a few stories that mentioned that the Elric brothers had been present, and one that listed them among the military injured who had been admitted to Central Hospital after the events.

After 1915, both Edward Elric and the Fullmetal Alchemist disappeared from the papers. Whatever role he had played in the historic events of 1915, whatever he meant to Mustang- it wasn’t public knowledge.

Wagner closed his notebook. He’d spent too much time on that boy- on that young man- already. Either Elric would contact him again, or he wouldn’t.

\--------------------

One day, Wagner looked up from a book to see Edward Elric standing in his office.

“You read it,” Elric said with a smirk, dropping into the chair.

Wagner opened the right-hand drawer of his desk and pulled out the papers, scrawled over in red. “It’s a hackneyed premise,” he said. “Your execution is naive at best, and you show an incredible lack of knowledge about the existing scholarship.”

Elric met his eyes steadily, and if Wagner’s criticisms bothered him, he showed it not at all. “You read the whole thing,” he said, his smile growing bigger. “And you wrote comments all over it. You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t think it had promise.”

Wagner frowned. “Why do you want admission into this program?” he asked.

Elric laughed. “The idiots who run the library told me I could only use it if I was faculty or a grad student. I didn’t think you’d offer me a teaching position. ”

Wagner shook his head. “Why the history department? Why Central?” He paused. “Why study this at all?”

Elric shrugged. “I wanted to _understand_ ,” he said. “I’ve read your work. You mostly study early Amestrian history; that’s why I wanted this program. You know more than anybody about the Aerugian Separation Wars and the Cameron Riots and the Rivieran Massacre and the Soapman Incident. Haven’t you ever wondered _why?_ Why all that blood, how it happened, what it was all for?”

Wagner frowned deeper, his forehead furrowing. “I don’t follow, young man,” he said.

“Why do people kill each other?” Elric said, leaning forward. “Why do wars happen? I want to _know_.”

Wagner looked at him, thoughtful. “I’m afraid you won’t find the answers to those questions here,” he said.

“Maybe not,” Elric said, shrugging. “It’s not a bad place to start.” He paused. For just a moment, Wagner caught a glimpse beyond Elric’s mask of arrogance, of unshakable confidence. There was the briefest flash of bitter, self-mocking guilt in the young man’s eyes. “Maybe if we understood it better, we could _do_ something about it,” he said, softly.

1907, Wagner thought, and the Eastern town of Resembool was bombed by Ishvalan terrorists. 1914, and Leore was almost destroyed by riots after the populace lost faith in their religious leader. 1915, and Amestrian soldiers were killing each other in the streets of Central.

No wonder Elric wanted to do something about it.

Wagner nodded. “I’m afraid that an undergraduate degree is absolutely required for admission to the graduate program,” he said, slowly. “But the Bachelor’s degree can be earned by exam. You could be ready to sit the exam in a year, and spend the time in between working on your own research before you’re admitted to the Master’s program.”

Elric stared at him, his face morphing slowly into a grin. “Can I get library privileges in the meantime?” he asked.

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Wagner said, dryly.

**Author's Note:**

> Roy’s “ways of knowing things”, by the way, were “Gracia told him”. He is such a goober.
> 
> My own personal headcanon for why Ed and Al are Elrics is actually that Hohenheim didn’t want to give them the name that Father had given him. He wanted them to have Trisha’s name.
> 
> You absolutely cannot get admission to a graduate program as I describe it in this story, by the way. I figure there’s a combination of things being faster and looser in the old days and there being a lot of behind the scenes wrangling where Ed has to fill out lots of paperwork blah blah blah and Wagner is acting as Ed’s advocate and using his personal clout to get the other faculty to accept him into the program. He probably also had Mustang use his political capital to influence the process.


End file.
